


Him and Him

by LondonLioness



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cheeky but not smutty, Gen, Humor, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-24 18:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17709623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonLioness/pseuds/LondonLioness
Summary: A fan wants to interview our boys for Him and Him E-zine. John is exasperated, Sherlock is feeling playful.This cannot end well.





	Him and Him

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first and so far, only, foray into humor. To stave off the PC Police: I am keeping to canon, where John has no problem with gay people, but is exasperated by the constant assumption that he is such. 
> 
> This takes place between the Sign of Three and His Last Vow.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

It was a rare day for London, bright sun and warm breeze, most of the trees with golden-green leaves just unfurling; the kind of spring day sonnets are written about. Taking advantage of the weather, the café we chose for a post-case celebration offered patio seating. I was enjoying the sun on my back as I dug into my roasted vegetable painini and across the table from me, Sherlock Holmes stirred a fourth spoonful of sugar into his cappuccino. Suddenly, my friend stiffened and rolled his eyes. 

"Fanboy approaching," he muttered, nodding towards my ten o'clock. I turned to see a young man of medium height and slight build walking towards us with a hopeful smile on his face. He wore chocolate brown corduroys with a matching sports jacket over a powder-blue turtleneck. Rectangular horn-rimmed glasses and artfully tousled hair completed the look. 

"Play nice," I admonished. Sherlock complied to the extent of wiping the forbidding frown off his face. Our visitor hurried the last few steps and greeted us rather breathlessly. 

"Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. I cannot believe my good fortune in happening upon you. May I beg for a small amount of your time?" Apparently assuming our answer would be yes, he drew up a chair. "Brian McAffee, I'm a correspondent for Him & Him E-zine. "I'm doing an article on staying friend with your ex, and well, I mean..." He spread his hands out toward us. "Having our ex as your best man, that's just fantastic. Mind if I ask a few questions?" 

I heaved a sigh. "I don't mind questions, Mr. McAffee, but I should tell you up front, we don't qualify to be part of your article because we're not exes." 

His eyes popped and his lips pursed; for a moment, he bore a striking resemblance to a fish. "You mean you still...oh, my. How does that work with your marriage, Dr. Watson?" 

I had unfortunately finished my last sentence by taking a rather large bite of my sandwich, and I nearly choked as I realised how completely he had misunderstood me. I would have liked to make a crisp, dignified statement, but I was reduced to urgent grunts and wait-a-minute gestures until I could clear my airway. 

"That's not what I meant," I was finally able to gasp. Sherlock, the great git, was saying nothing, merely watching the proceedings with distant amusement. "We're not exes because we were never a couple. I don't get it," I continued, on my way to a rant. "I'm married with a baby on the way. What does a man have to do to be outed as straight in today's society?" 

Mr. McAffee offered a smile that looked...sympathetic. "Dr. Watson, as a medical professional, I'm sure you appreciate there's a whole spectrum of human sexual behaviours and orientations, and they're not mutually exclusive." 

"I'm aware," I agreed, "but my place on that spectrum is the area labeled 'straight.'" I sighed. "I just don't understand the persistence of this rumour. My daughter will be starting uni having to fend off stories about her father's torrid affair with Sherlock Holmes." 

"Torrid affair," Sherlock scoffed, speaking for the first time. "That's ludicrous." 

"Exactly," I nodded. 

"More like...a pleasant dalliance." 

"Sherrrloock..." I growled at him. He smiled back at me, all innocence, and he can do innocent very well with those wide blue eyes. "He's joking," I informed our interviewer. 

"So if you could define the relationship?" 

"We're former flatmates and continuing best friends. We're partners in the Work. In the sense that either of us would gladly take a bullet for the other, the word 'love' is certainly not misplaced. But we have never -- _ever_ \-- done a single thing that could be construed as romantic." 

"Oh, I don't know," Sherlock interjected, toying with a biscotti. "We held hands once." 

"That was because of the handcuf -- I did not just say that," I groaned, glaring at my friend. He was hiding his smile behind his cappuccino, but his eyes were dancing with mischief. Oh, great, he was feeling playful. This could not end well. I hastened to explain, "In the course of one of our investigations, we got cuffed together. Holding hands made it easier to run. There's a complete account of the matter in my blog." 

Sherlock put down his cup and regarded me quizzically. "You do realise, the more you squirm, the less he believes you." 

"I'm not squirming," I snapped. "I'm just trying to explain." 

"Why?" Sherlock wondered. "Those that matter know the truth, and those that don't know the truth don't matter." 

"You're right," I agreed. "In a very large sense, you are right. But that doesn't owe to the fact that there is something everyone 'knows' about me that is simply not true, and I would like to set the matter straight -- so to speak. So can you please confirm for the gentleman that we were not, are not, and never shall be lovers?" 

Sherlock gaped at me in sudden distress, blinking back tears. "But -- darling! What -- what are you saying?" 

I pitched my voice low and spoke without moving my lips. "I will strangle you slowly." 

With a final laugh, my friend relented. "What he said," he told the interviewer, with a nod towards me. 

Mr. McAffee looked from one of us to the other and finally lifted his shoulders in a self-deprecating shrug. "My mistake, then. Still a pleasure to have met you both." 

I tucked money for the bill into the little folder the waiter had left and glanced at Sherlock. "Shall we?" 

Sherlock took a moment to wrap his remaining biscotti, chocolate biscuits being one of the few foodstuffs he waxed enthusiastic about, and followed me out. That evening, Mary and I had a laugh about the interview, and I thought no more about it. 

Two months later, we got called to a crime scene. Donovan was standing nearby, and as we got out of the car, she favoured us with a broad smirk. 

"Heh. Always knew it." She spoke into her shoulder radio as she lifted the yellow tape for us. "Freak and Mrs. Freak are in the house." 

"Thanks, Sally," I said mildly, having long since stopped rising to her bait. "What's with the 'Always knew it'?" 

She shrugged. "We all always knew it. But Mary is fine with you being with him?" 

She sounded incredulous, but I couldn't imagine why. The truth is, Mary adores a mystery and frequently joins us as we pore over evidence. "Mary knows how important this is to me," I explained. "She even participates sometimes." 

Sally's face crumpled in disgust. "Oi, that is so much more than I needed to know!" She stalked off. 

"Now, what was...?" I looked around to see I was addressing the air. Sherlock's attention had been caught by a handful of shell casings on the ground and he was carefully pacing from one to the next. Apparently, something didn't make sense, because he marched back to the beginning and started over, muttering what sounded like numbers under his breath. Seeing me, he called, "Look over the body, John!" and resume his pacing and muttering. 

I went over to the shrouded body on the ground. D.I. Lestrade was there, and he greeted me warmly. 

"There he is, the man of the hour, or one of them, anyway." He shook his head in wonder. "About bloody time, and may I say, your Mary is one in a million." 

"Thanks, I think so," I murmured, trying to understand this. The whole day was starting to feel surreal. 

"Not that it's any of my business," Greg continued, "but would you mind telling me which one of you declared first?" 

"Declared...?" 

"You know said, 'I love you."" 

"Oh! That would be me." 

Lestrade's face fell. "Damn! I had fifty quid riding on Sherlock." 

I gaped at him. "I meant between Mary and me." I could feel a slow burn starting. "So The Rumour That Will Not Die is making another round; that's why everyone is acting so strange? Which tabloid said what this time? 

Now it was Lestrade's turn to gape. "I guess it is pretty early; you probably haven't turned on the telly or logged on yet today." I confirmed this with a shake of my head. "I don't understand why you're upset, though; you must have known this would come out when you gave the interview." 

"Interview...?" 

"In Him & Him magazine. The article's gone viral; it's all over the web." 

It took me a moment to place the reference. "Wait...Him & Him? But I told the interviewer I was straight. What did that little weasel write?" 

"Oh, he wrote that. But at the end, what Sherlo...ahhh! Ooof, you don't know..." 

"Know what?" My frustration was starting to boil over, and I must have looked pretty scary, because Greg started backing away. 

"Why don't you log on and read it yourself; it's one of the top five trending stories on Yahoo! I'll just go and...assign Sherlock a bodyguard." He pelted off. 

I stared after him a moment, then whipped out my mobile. Sure enough, Headline #3 on Yahoo! read, "Holmes/Watson: It's Way Past Bromance." 

With a sinking feeling, I clicked on it and started reading. To my surprise, the interview was reported pretty accurately, albeit with a number of "nudge-nudge, wink-wink" embellishments. For example, when I mentioned my blog, McAffee had written, "See hyperlink. Actually, dear Reader, your Humble Author is a bit confused as to what Dr. Watson is trying to convey here. Cuffed together, dashing hand-in-hand through the streets of London to bring the Bad Guys to justice -- sounds awfully romantic to _me._

It continued on in that vein, accurately reporting the last exchange between Sherlock and me (and, oh, didn't he have fun with that "But, darling" business.) But it continued on for another paragraph after what I thought would be the end: 

"And that's where matters would have stayed, dear Reader, had Mr. Holmes not leaned back on his way out, whispered, "They're really a lovely couple," and graced your Humble Author with a saucy..." 

I was speechless for a long moment, then I bellowed. Heads came up all over the crime scene, but I was past caring. 

_"Sherlock! You WINKED?"_

\- Fin -

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that line about assigning a bodyguard was a whole lot funnier before TLD aired.
> 
> This is actually the first fanfic I wrote. I had just discovered Sherlock, and the running joke of John sputtering, "But we're not..." produced this little plot bunny.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!


End file.
